


Combeferre's Bad Day

by MagicalDragon



Series: Elysium [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Combeferre & Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Gen, Good Friend Combeferre, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27523027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalDragon/pseuds/MagicalDragon
Summary: Combeferre was having a bad day.Takes place during chapter Chapter 14 ofOn the Path to Elysium.
Relationships: Combeferre & Enjolras (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Elysium [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755289
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Combeferre's Bad Day

Combeferre was having a bad day. He had woken up with a headache which had persisted throughout his morning lectures, rendering it nearly impossible for him to pay proper attention to the anatomy lesson he was being taught. Joly kept trying to suggest different ways to deal with the headache every time they had a break, and though his concern was endearing, coupled with the headache, it got on Combeferre's nerves a bit more than he was willing to admit. His headache abated after lunch, but then Joly threw up the lunch and went home and Combeferre spent the rest of the day wondering if there had been something wrong with their meal. As he left the last lecture, a fellow student muttered a rude comment which Combeferre struggled to determine whether was caused by class, colour or simply the other student’s temperament. 

When he arrived at his quarters, he found Enjolras glaring at a law book. Enjolras didn't normally read much in the way of books, particularly not those meant for his studies, which meant his mood must be too wretched for pouring over political correspondence or pamphlets.

"How was your day?" he asked carefully.

Enjolras shrugged, the surly expression not leaving his face.

"Yours?"

"Much the same," Combeferre said and sat down opposite him with a sigh. 

Enjolras looked up from his book, his expression changing to one of sympathy. Combeferre’s sour mood had momentarily allowed Enjolras to forget his own. 

“Tell me.” 

And so Combeferre did. Enjolras expressed sympathy where needed and withheld it where he knew Combeferre would prefer not to hear it, their intimate knowledge of one another allowing him to determine such things quite effortlessly. They had grown up on neighbouring estates, some way from Marseilles, and Combeferre could not remember a time before he knew Enjolras. Being two boys of the same class with only a year between them, they had been brought together at an early age to have the company otherwise deprived them by their lack of siblings. Enjolras had been a quiet, serious child, but he had livened up in Combeferre’s company and Combeferre, for his part, had been excited to impart knowledge on a willing subject and not his increasingly exhausted grandparents. Combeferre shared deep friendships with many men of Les Amis de l’ABC, but Enjolras was like a brother to him. They understood each other better than anyone else understood either of them. 

“And you?” Combeferre asked, once he had finished complaining about his day. 

“I?”

Combeferre sent him a look. Enjolras sighed. He knew as well as Combeferre did that they could not hide from one another. 

“What do you think of Grantaire?” 

“Grantaire?”

What  _ did  _ he think of their resident skeptic? Not much, honestly. Combeferre had enough to worry about without adding Grantaire to the list. He was grateful beyond measure for Grantaire’s assistance in saving Courfeyrac’s life, for how he had forced Combeferre to move beyond his panic and do what he could for Courfeyrac. Grantaire cared for them all, even if he did not care for their cause. Combeferre knew that much and he knew that a bond had been created between them that night — a bond that Combeferre intended to honour. Still, quite frankly… Grantaire was the member of their inner circle Combeferre shared the least intimate friendship with and Combeferre could not claim to  _ understand  _ the man. He willfully contradicted himself with a frequency that meant one had to make quite a study of him to perceive his real opinions and his temperament was subject to mood swings too great to draw up a comprehensive picture of his underlying nature. 

In short: Combeferre’s feelings on Grantaire were too complex to be expressed without launching into a longer discourse that seemed unfit to the situation at hand. 

Combeferre ended up shrugging. 

“He is one of us, if more in friendship than solidarity. Why do you ask?”

A complicated set of emotions passed over Enjolras’ face, discomfort chief among them. 

“What I tell you now, I tell you in confidentiality,” Enjolras started and Combeferre’s heart rate accelerated. Grantaire couldn’t be a spy, that couldn’t be it… but maybe, in his carelessness, he’d…? 

“Do you remember what we spoke of last autumn?”

Combeferre frowned. 

“We speak daily, Enjolras.”

Enjolras made a face and looked away. 

“After that business with that bar which was raided by the gendarmes… you remember?” 

Oh. Oh, of course. 

“I do remember, yes,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras had been upset, after the lively meeting at the Musain that day. He’d been agitated during the debate, and once alone with Combeferre, he’d expressed his sympathies for the sodomites quite strongly and had, after some ranting on the nature of justice, admitted to him that he felt a kinship with them. 

But… what did that all have to do with Grantaire?

“Well, he and I, we…” Enjolras gesticulated vaguely. “...recently, and he has been avoiding me ever since. Today, I went to speak with him, but he seemed entirely disinclined to talk of it.” 

Combeferre blinked. 

“With… Grantaire?” 

When Combeferre had considered Enjolras’ tastes back in autumn, he had not imagined Grantaire. Perhaps that had been his bias — he had, he supposed, imagined him with another classical beauty, as at home in a Neoclassical painting as Enjolras himself. Whatever Grantaire was, that wasn’t it. Though Combeferre supposed he did not find the revelation about Grantaire’s tastes, nor his interest in Enjolras, entirely surprising. 

“He is not as uncaring as he pretends,” Enjolras said, staring out the window with unfocused eyes. “Or at least, I did not believe he was, I can’t quite make sense of…”

“You are correct that he cares a great deal more than he lets on. I learned that when he helped me save Courfeyrac’s leg, if you recall.” 

“Of course…” Enjolras said, still looking like his thoughts were far, far away from their quarters. 

Combeferre sighed and got up. Once he sat down again, he was sitting a great deal closer to Enjolras. 

“Jean,” he said and Enjolras finally met his eyes again. “Tell me what happened. Properly.”

Enjolras cleared his throat.

“Well, when I went there the day after, I was told he was out and I was not able to catch him alone till earlier today—”

“First of all, what did you actually do? I don’t know what this…” Combeferre repeated Enjolras’ vague motions at him. “...means. Did you copulate?”

Enjolras’ pale cheeks turned scarlet, like they always had when he was younger and topics of a carnal nature were discussed. Combeferre thought Enjolras had outgrown that reaction, but it seemed that some of it still remained.

“No,” Enjolras croaked out. “We merely kissed.”

Combeferre smiled indulgently. 

“Don’t laugh at me!” Enjolras exclaimed, but a glint in his eye told Combeferre that he, too, could see the humor in the situation. 

“Just be glad you’re not having this conversation with Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said. 

“I am, believe you me…” Enjolras said. 

“Does he even know?”

“He does not.”

“Will he?”

Enjolras shrugged.

“If it becomes relevant, I shall speak to him of it.”

“At any rate: Grantaire?” 

“Yes, well… he has been avoiding me ever since that occasion and earlier today when I did manage to find him alone, he told me that there was nothing to speak of and implied that the whole thing had been a mistake. We were drunk, which can induce men into making such mistakes, and yet… I do not understand him.”

“Does anyone?” Combeferre commented dryly. 

“On many occasions, he has spoken to me in a manner that would suggest that he... well, that he desires me. So why would he change his mind so suddenly? Have I been vain to misunderstand him so?”

“Whatever is going on, Enjolras, I doubt the culprit is your vanity, for I have never known you to possess any.” 

Enjolras sighed.

“Well, it’s no use speculating, I suppose. If that is how he feels, that is how it is. There are more important things.” 

Combeferre considered his friend for a moment. Despite his words, Enjolras still looked deep in thought — this matter clearly would not leave his mind just because he wished it would. Combeferre put a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. 

“You are allowed to have concerns outside of Patria once in a while, my dear friend,” he said once Enjolras met his eyes. “The rest of us do. It is human that your mind needs time to consider this matter thoroughly before it can be discarded. Do not try to hurry along what cannot be hurried. It will be ill for your mind.” 

Enjolras grinned.

“Is that your medical opinion?” 

“It is. Here comes another medical opinion: seeing as both our days have been quite poor, we shall go to Rousseau's and dine well tonight.”

Enjolras readily agreed and about half an hour later, they were off. The dinner was as good as they had hoped, and as they walked back home afterwards, Combeferre thought that perhaps the rest of the day had been saved. Indeed, he and Enjolras had been merry at the restaurant and were merry on their way back and even once they got back, they had about an hour of peace, wherein they made fun of Martignac, spoke fondly of Rousseau and discussed some of the medical principles Combeferre’s afternoon lectures had covered. 

Then Grantaire arrived. 

  
  


"Grantaire, it's late…" Combeferre told him, considering the breathless man before him.

"I need to talk to Enjolras,” Grantaire said hurriedly. 

Enjolras appeared behind Combeferre.

"I thought you said there was nothing to talk about."

"I say a great many things." 

Combeferre looked from one to the other.

“I'll leave you to it. Try not to argue too loudly, I have an early lecture tomorrow.” 

  
  


When Combeferre woke up a while later, it was because he had to pee. He stood up and got out his chamber pot, but as he did, he heard a sound that made him freeze in place. 

It was Enjolras’ groaning. 

The sound ceased and Combeferre almost thought — hoped, rather — that he had heard wrong. But then he heard it again, and it was unmistakable this time. 

Oh God. Oh God no, what had he done to deserve this? 

Well. At least they weren’t arguing. 

Combeferre struggled to decide whether this was truly preferable.

In the end, he peed and went back to bed, hoping to fall back asleep immediately. But no, of course he couldn’t. Of course now that he had heard it, he could not help but be on guard for any other sounds from Enjolras’ room. 

He must have fallen asleep eventually, of course, for he awoke the next morning with the sun, but it was a struggle, truly, to drag himself out of bed after such disturbed sleep.

Combeferre sighed deeply and hoped that this day would be better than yesterday.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a coda to c14 of Elysium. Couldn't get the image of Combeferre lying in the next room staring into the void out of my head lol


End file.
